The briefing room was dim, lit only by two narrow bands of amber light that hummed faintly above the long oak table. The air carried a chill that didn't belong to the season or the stone walls—it was the chill of a room built for hard truths and harder assignments.
Sirius sat at the head of the table, gloves on, eyes calmly unreadable. The gloves looked like an afterthought to someone unfamiliar with him, but the trio knew better. The leather wasn't fashion; it was restraint—an unspoken warning that his element was dangerous even at rest.
Liam, Rylan, and Esther stood before him, shoulders squared, breaths measured but tight. They had just returned from morning drills, but Sirius hadn't allowed them a moment to recover. His summons had been immediate.
Sirius tapped a single sheet of parchment with one gloved finger.
"A containment breach. District Twelve."His voice was quiet. That made the tension worse.
Esther felt her spine stiffen. District Twelve was industrial—quiet during the day, empty at night. An abandoned storage block and several decommissioned factories. Perfect for something to go wrong unnoticed.
"What kind of breach?" Rylan asked, though he already suspected the answer.
Sirius didn't look up. "An Initiate. Fire."
Liam swallowed once, the motion shallow. He didn't speak, but fire always tensed him. Fire Avatars burned fast when they lost control—burned hot, burned wide. They were the most destructive when panic broke their restraint.
Esther felt it before anything was explained: a faint drop in temperature around Sirius. The gloves didn't hide the flicker of heat leaking from the seams. His element reacted instinctively to danger—especially when the danger was one of his own.
"He triggered a spiral," Sirius said. "Early-stage. His control fractured during an unsupervised ritual attempt. The report says his body temperature destabilized rapidly. They detected the heat from three blocks away."
Liam exhaled slowly. "Is he still conscious?"
"Unclear," Sirius replied. "Three patrolmen attempted to assist. One is in critical condition. Two are missing."
Silence tightened around the room.
This wasn't a mission. This was damage control.
Esther kept her breathing even. She didn't like dealing with Fire gone wild. Air didn't counter heat; it fed it. One wrong strike, one misaligned gust, and she'd risk turning a contained flare into an inferno.
Sirius finally looked up at the three of them. His eyes were steady, but something in them was colder than the room itself.
"You won't be restraining him," he said. "You'll be isolating him. Drawing his attention. Keeping him from reaching the inhabited blocks. Support will arrive for the actual containment."
He paused, letting the reality settle.
"You are not to engage directly unless absolutely necessary. If he touches any of you, the burn won't stop."
Esther's stomach tightened.
"Equipment is already prepared," Sirius finished. "You leave in ten minutes."
He stood, the light catching faint embers beneath the leather of his gloves—brief and soft, like breathing coals.
"And one more thing," he said, voice sharpening. "Fire Avatars in early spiral burn through their element uncontrollably. They don't know friend from foe. They don't know anything except the heat."
He stepped past them, leaving the faint smell of scorched leather in his wake.
"Do not underestimate what the body does when it is trying to survive its own flames."
The door shut behind him.
No one spoke for a moment.
Then Rylan inhaled and broke the silence. "Gear up."
The arsenal hall was colder than usual, as though the stone had deliberately drained warmth in anticipation of their arrival. Liam took his familiar weapons from the rack: his steel-backed revolver and the longsword with a grip worn smooth from hours of training.
Rylan lifted his twin blades in complete silence. They were simple steel—sharp, balanced. Nothing fancy. His hands moved with a kind of muscle-deep certainty.
Esther walked toward the archery alcove at the far end of the hall. The bows hung neatly, each with its own quiver. She reached for her usual weapon: a polished yew bow with a grip that fit her hand like it had been carved for her alone. She checked the string, then the arrowheads—steel, narrow, efficient.
She didn't need element conduits.She needed control.
As she slung the quiver over her shoulder, Rylan glanced toward her.
"Stay behind us."
She raised a brow. "Because I always do that."
Rylan didn't smile. He wasn't joking.
"You feed fire," he said simply. "That's not on you. It's just physics."
Esther tightened her grip on the bow. His logic wasn't wrong. But she didn't like being reduced to risk.
"We flank," she said, stepping forward. "You two draw him. I pin movement from range."
Liam nodded. "Sounds right."
Rylan hesitated a moment longer… then relented.
She didn't need acknowledgment. The mission required precision, not reassurance.
The three left the hall in silence.
The moment they crossed into District Twelve, Esther felt the air shift.
Not in some mystical Avatar way.Not sensing.Just heat.
Raw, wrong heat.
The kind that didn't radiate—it pulsed. Like a furnace inhaling and exhaling.
The streets were empty. Windows shuttered. The fog hung too heavily for the hour, as if the warmth had forced humidity into unnatural pockets. Shadows wavered against brick walls, bending in slow, pulsing distortions.
Liam exhaled, breath fogging in the cool night air despite the distant heat. "He's close."
Rylan's jaw tightened. "Two blocks. Maybe less."
Esther lifted her bow slightly. She didn't draw an arrow yet. The air felt thick—difficult to move cleanly. She didn't trust herself to shoot until she understood where the heat was coming from.
As they turned the corner into the industrial yard, the source revealed itself.
A figure knelt in the center of a cracked courtyard.
The stone beneath him had blackened and split. The air shimmered visibly around his body. Searing, unstable lines crawled across his skin—not flame, not light, but heat distortion made solid. His hair clung to his forehead, burned at the ends. His breath came shallow, glowing faintly each time he exhaled.
He wasn't raging.
He was suffering.
Esther's throat tightened.
Rylan whispered, "He's barely conscious."
Liam stepped forward—and the ground responded.
A wave of heat pushed outward, bending the air so sharply it stung Esther's eyes. The pressure hit her chest a second later, like standing too close to a boiler vent. She gritted her teeth and forced her stance firm.
The Initiate lifted his head slowly.
His eyes were unfocused. Glazed. But not empty.
Terrified.
And then the spiral surged.
The heat around him spiked, warping the air in violent pulses.
"Move!" Rylan ordered.
The courtyard erupted. Stone cracked like brittle bone. A blast of furnace-hot air struck the trio, throwing Esther back a step despite her braced stance. Liam shielded his face, cloak whipping violently.
Rylan charged first, twin swords low. "Liam—left!"
Liam darted wide, drawing the Fire Avatar's attention. Not with his element—just with movement. Just with presence.
The spiral reacted instinctively.
The heat lunged toward Liam.
Esther nocked an arrow, breath steadying despite the burn scraping her lungs. She fired—not at the Initiate, but at the ground near Liam's foot, the arrow striking stone with a sharp crack.
A warning.
Liam pivoted, letting the burst of heat rush past him instead of through him.
Rylan closed the distance, blades drawn—his strikes never touching, only redirecting. He wasn't attacking. He was interrupting the Avatar's attempts to stand fully. Each time the Initiate moved, Rylan's blade intercepted the trajectory, slowing him without ever making contact.
Liam swept to the opposite flank, sword held at guard, revolver unused. He knew better—one bullet would ignite the superheated air instantly.
The Initiate screamed—not in rage, but agony.
Esther's stomach twisted.
He wasn't becoming a monster.
He was being devoured by his own element.
A burst of heat surged outward again—stronger. Rylan staggered, forced back. Liam shielded his face with his forearm, hissing as the heat seared through his sleeve.
Esther stepped back, breath ragged. Air around her felt like boiling water. Her arrows would warp if she wasn't careful.
She adjusted her aim, inhaled, and shot—this time at a rusted pipe high above the Initiate.
The metal cracked. Steam hissed downward, cutting through the fiery distortion with a burst of white vapor.
The Initiate flinched, arms curling around his torso.
Rylan seized the opening, darting in front of Liam. "Liam—take high ground!"
Liam sprinted, boots scraping against loose stone as he climbed the broken iron staircase along the courtyard wall. The height wouldn't protect him, but it created angle—distance—safety.
Another surge erupted.
Esther felt the skin on her forearms sting.
This couldn't last.
Their bodies weren't built for this.
Rylan moved again, cutting off the Initiate's path as he tried to crawl toward the residential end of the district. His blades flashed in calculated arcs, creating pressure—psychological, not physical.
"Stay back," he murmured, voice low. "Don't make this worse."
The Initiate didn't understand. His breath rasped, glowing hotter with each exhale. His skin blistered. His voice cracked on a broken syllable that sounded more like pleading than threat.
Liam, now above, gave a sharp signal. "He's collapsing!"
Esther saw it too.
The heat was no longer surging outward.It was folding inward.Dying inward.
Like a star collapsing under its own gravity.
"Sirius said early spiral," Esther whispered, heart sinking. "But this… this is late-stage burnout—"
A final pulse detonated outward.
Rylan was thrown off his feet, hitting the ground hard. Liam nearly lost his grip on the railing above. Esther stumbled, bow slipping slightly.
When the smoke cleared—
The Initiate lay on the ground, unmoving.
Steam hissed from cracked stone. The courtyard glowed faintly red.
Esther's breath shook.
Rylan stood slowly, blades lowered but ready.
Liam descended from the platform, boots crunching against scorched debris.
None of them spoke for several seconds.
Not because they didn't know what to say.
Because there was nothing to say.
The Initiate had stopped burning only because his body had finally given out.
Esther approached slowly, eyes stinging from heat and smoke. She didn't touch him, didn't kneel—only observed the limp body on the ground.
"He's dead," she whispered.
Rylan exhaled quietly. Liam rubbed a hand over his face, smearing soot across his cheek.
The distant sound of approaching operatives finally broke the silence.
Containment had arrived.
And it was over.
They returned to the facility in silence.
Not the uncomfortable silence of teammates avoiding conversation—but the exhausted silence of people who had been too close to a death they couldn't prevent and wouldn't forget.
Their clothes were scorched. Esther's sleeves were singed in thin lines. Rylan's blades were warped slightly from the heat. Liam's left forearm was blistered where he'd shielded his face.
When they finally stepped into the main corridor, the cold air hit them all at once.
Esther's breath trembled—not from fear.
From relief.
They walked toward the infirmary hall, each step slow, heavy.
Then—
Footsteps.
Someone turning the corner ahead.
A figure they didn't expect.
Leximus.
Daggers at his sides. Shadow clinging faintly around him like a quiet echo.
They stopped.
He stopped.
And everything went silent.
The heat.The exhaustion.The ache.
All of it froze under the weight of that moment.
Esther's eyes hardened, her jaw tightening instinctively.
Liam's breath stalled.Rylan's posture stiffened.
Leximus said nothing.
The shadows behind him softened.
And the trio walked past him—
—without a word of explanation.